


Harbor

by blue_poppy



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Tweaked Canon, a ficlet that may or may not turn into anything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 11:38:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12983280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_poppy/pseuds/blue_poppy
Summary: Julian takes the Apprentice to the docks to end their relationship and she, like usual, has something to say about it.





	Harbor

_“Do you want me?”_

The words barely leave her lips before her throat catches, a sharp intake of sea air, bracing for the truth she dreads.

But Julian is as caught off guard as she is, startled so badly he almost sends himself into the cold waters below them.  He must have misheard, he says.

It’s harder to say it a second time, more aware now of how much it is going to hurt to hear that she does not matter to him. Not the way she wants to matter to him. Still, she has to know, to peel the scab.

“I asked if you wanted me.”

He gulps, his posture tightening as if to compress himself into something denser, something tougher to break. When he speaks, Philomena can scarcely process the words tumbling out of his mouth, so urgent is the pull to escape, to be anywhere else, feel anything else.

“Do I want you… do I want you? That’s a tough question to answer.”

_It always is._

“I want you to be safe.”

_That isn’t what I asked._

“I want you to stay out of this whole mess.”

_But for which reasons?_

“I want…”

His voice trails and Philomena finds herself unable to tear away from the wild look that has overcome his brilliant features, the ones her mouth had glided over, teeth had pierced. The pause holds a desperation, and in that pause, her heart skips. The way his eyes appeal to hers, she wonders if maybe… maybe just this once, she did not hope in vain.

Just before the pause breaks, his chin falls.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” Julian says in a low, defeated voice.

“It does!” she snaps before she can stop herself.

Julian jolts. They both do.

She stands with a forced resoluteness, trembling more than can be blamed on the chill night air. Knowing if she waits, the anxiety will swallow her words, Philomena breathes deeply.

“It matters, Julian. Because I know… I know what it feels like. I know how it hurts to feel like you char everything in your wake. To feel like you are unlovable. To want to isolate yourself so you can’t hurt anybody… so you can’t disappoint them.” Her voice shakes as she speaks, never having voiced these feelings before, even to Asra, but she makes sure to meet Julian’s eye.

And he meets her eyes back, fixated, telling her with an intensity, “You could never disappoint me.”

“And if I told you the same?” she says, watching him recoil. “Would you believe me?”

“…No.”

They hold each other’s gaze, a tension mounting. How she wants to break that tension, to throw herself into him, bury her face in his shuddering chest, feel his cold hand curl around the nape of her neck.

But he hasn’t answered her question.

“Julian,” she starts, but he casts his face away.

She bites her lip and then, firmly, but with a gentleness, grabs his gloved arm. He stiffens, then, slowly, as her fingers slip into his own, he returns her stare.

“Julian, I’m not going to make you stay,” she says.

Julian’s eyes widen, watching her now with earnest intention.

“I would never make you do something you didn’t want to do. But don’t-” her eyes start to well. She blinks. She can’t cry. Not right now. She has to say this. “Don’t make my decisions for me. Don’t decide what I need protected from, what hurt I cannot stand. Life hurts. It hurts in any way it can. And it rips the good, the bad, all of it, from you, whether or not you’re ready. So when you find something, a light that alleviates that hurt, you don’t surrender it. You hold onto it as tightly as you can for as long as you can.”

Thoughtlessly, Julian’s grip tightens around Philomena’s hand. They notice at the same time, and Julian looks at her with a fear she recognizes from the mirror. He pulls his hand away and strides back to the spot they had been sitting, fingers curling around a post, knuckles white beneath his gloves.

Philomena breathes again. “I’m not saying you have to… that I’m… I just…”

Her words are faltering now. Whatever confidence she had been drawing from is fading. The waters continue to crash, the same as they were crashing when she first stepped onto the docks.

She sits on the edge of the dock. Julian, after a beat, unclenches his hand and settles next her. This time, though, their shoulders don’t touch. Philomena watches the Lazaret with forced interest. Masked by the sound of the waves, hazily she can almost hear a chorus of shrieks and prayers. She wonders if she sounded selfish, self-interested. That wasn’t her intent. She just couldn’t bear letting Julian feel that same hurt she felt. Still feels.

“If you want to go, go,” she says, finding her voice again. “If you want to run, run. But don’t wallow in your suffering.”

He’s looking at her now, but she keeps focused on the island, determined to finish what she intended to say.

“You’re terrified to hope, and I get it. It’s human. And maybe… maybe it is going to end how you say. Maybe this crashes and burns. But at some point, I don’t care when, you have to hope. Nothing good will ever reach you if you cower at every gleam of light. If you barricade yourself, whatever you fear happening will have no choice but to come to fruition. You don’t deserve that. The people you love don’t deserve that.”

“Then what _do_ I deserve?” he says. “What could a man with a well of sins as deep as mine deserve that isn’t vile?”

“Julian-”

“No, you’re right, let’s hope,” he says, throwing his head back, a bite in his tone. “Let me imagine a future I do not deserve. Where I live. Where Pasha does not have a reason to cry anymore. Where you-” his mocking smile goes tight, his jaw clenches, distraught. “You…”

His shoulders fall, arms dropping into his lap.

The sadness in his face strikes Philomena. Whatever was in her heart before now just aches. She reaches for his jaw, brushing his skin lightly. Julian catches her wrist, moving his lips to meet her palm.

 “… Being with you is the first thing I’ve wanted for myself in a long time.”

Philomena freezes at his admonition. It’s Julian’s confession, the way his lips trail away from her palm, the impact of being so wanted that makes the first tear fall. And the next one.

Concern carved into his sallow features, Julian releases her hand and wipes the tears from her face with a smooth caress of his thumb. Philomena leans into his touch and Julian mimics her, bringing his face within inches of hers.

Oh, to stay in this moment…

Julian sighs and rests his lips on the top of Philomena’s head. Her heart sinks as she realizes that he isn’t going to give in to his selfishness, that he’s going to retreat into the safety of his anxieties. And she can’t blame him. Even when he says the words she’s been dreading all night, she can’t bring herself to hate him.

“I’ll walk you home.”


End file.
